


A Guide Falls

by bereft_of_frogs



Series: The Tree of Liberty Watered [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-06 04:36:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bereft_of_frogs/pseuds/bereft_of_frogs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Montparnasse delivers a message, not particularly well received. Combeferre has made a mistake and will pay for it in blood.</p><p>Modern AU/Kind of Reincarnation</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: In the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Part One of 'The Tree of Liberty Watered', a Modern AU/Kind of Reincarnation where the Amis are Law/Med/Art students in New York. They run a social justice group and no one has to die young for France, but some souls just can't make it through life unscathed. I know there are a lot of Modern AUs out there right now, but I thought I'd add my voice to the fray :)
> 
> An Introduction/Explanation will also be posted in the series, that explains how all the Amis meet and hook up and how they come to be called the Amis, despite none of them actually being French.
> 
> I've written a lot for Les Miserables, but this will be my first published work. Actually, my first published multichapter in about five years. Wish me luck. :)

Combeferre is exhausted. He thought pre-med was bad. He thought med school was bad. But those are nothing compared to this, bone wrenching physical and emotional exhaustion. He spends all of his time not in class or with the Amis at the hospital, rotating through the various hospital departments. This quarter was in the emergency department, and he feels like he’s found a fit. Its all consuming, but he loves it. Even in his tiredness, he feels a sense of completeness, fulfillment. It confirms that the work, and the debt, the sacrifice, had all been worth it. And to tell the truth, the chaos of the emergency room is not unlike the chaos of the Amis. For years Combeferre and Joly have worked together as their unofficial medics, fielding various complaints and injuries, all while planning protests and completing their own studies. It makes the ED feel like home, like the Amis. 

It’s dark when he leaves the hospital, getting late. He throws on a jacket over his scrubs and his bag over his shoulder, strolling through the still crowded New York streets towards the apartment he shares with Joly and Bossuet. Enjolras had texted him hours ago that the Amis were meeting there, and he hoped he could make it. He doubted he would, but Enjolras and Courfeyrac would promised to still be there, waiting for him. 

The thought warms him, making him feel more alert, a little less exhausted. He had assumed his Friday night to be quiet and rather lonely, since Eponine had taken Gavroche to his orchestra recital at his school, and was thus unavailable. But the thought of his friends waiting for him fills him with affection for them. It’ll be a good relaxation after a stressful day at work. 

The streets around his apartment are much quieter than the busy main areas around the square, something that had attracted the two studious medical students to the area. But tonight, it works to his disadvantage. 

The attack is sudden, completely unexpected. One second Combeferre is walking along, almost to the front door of his apartment building, the next, he is pinned against the alley wall, rough hands fisting in his jacket. 

“Hello, doctor.”

“What the fuck, Montparnasse?” Combeferre shoves back, but the larger man holds him steady. “Let me go!”

“I thought we should have a chat, and since such a high and mighty medical student would never lower yourself to my level, I had to come to you.” Combeferre shoves at him again, to no avail. 

“Fine, let’s talk. But lets go upstairs so we can do so in a civilized manner.”

“We’re not discussing a civilized topic, so why would we go? Besides, I’d rather be alone, without that obnoxious, whiny fag roommate of yours.” Combeferre loses his temper, spitting in Montparnasse’s face, which only really yields him a backhanded slap across the face. 

“Don’t talk about him like that.” He snarls, his cheek stinging. 

“Oooh, so protective of the little fag. But we’re not hear to talk about the little cocksucker, we’re hear to talk about my girlfriend.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s not exactly your girlfriend anymore.”

“I told you to stay away from her.”

“You’re not in control of who she sleeps with.”

“Oh yeah? She’s mine, and I warned you, life wouldn’t be pleasant for you if you insisted on picking up my sloppy seconds.” Combeferre tries to knee him in the groin, but misses, though on a second attempt he manages to connect with soft tissue of his abdomen, satisfied with a sharp exhalation of air from his attacker. 

“Leave her the fuck alone! I’m not going to let you drag her into the darkness with you anymore!”

“What a white knight!” Montparnasse pushes him against the wall again, lifting him so his feet drag on the ground. Combeferre can feel the bricks scrape against his skull as Montparnasse hits him against it. “You can’t protect her, doctor. And you can’t protect yourself.” Combeferre doesn’t have time to think about what that means.

It doesn’t even hurt at first. Just a sharp pulling in the soft muscles of his abdomen. Something hot starts to run down his skin towards his hip. Montparnasse pulls the knife out, and _that_ starts to hurt, eliciting a sharp yelp from Combeferre. Montparnasse drives the knife in again for good measure. The air chokes in Combeferre’s throat.

“Let this be a lesson to you,” He hisses, twisting the blade and smiling when Combeferre cries out in pain. “Stay away from Eponine...if you survive.” He lets go and Combeferre crumples to the ground all at once, gasping. The thief’s footsteps fade as he runs, leaving Combeferre bleeding in the alley just feet from his apartment door.


	2. Chapter 1: Blood Spilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre gets help, with a bit of difficulty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit longer this time. 
> 
> Little bit of a note on Enjolras, since we're meeting him for the first time this chapter. I feel like he's a bit out of character, but it's because...well, this is a situation where one is allowed to be out of character. I almost wish I had posted something else in this series first, so you could see that I actually do like writing a strong, confident, rebel leader Enjolras, but you'll have to deal with a breaking down Enjolras for a while before we see the normal one again.

Combeferre takes deep breaths through his nose, holding a hand over the rapidly bleeding wound. He looks around desperately, but there’s no one in sight. With hands sticky with blood he feels for his cell phone, to no avail. _Where the fuck is it?_ , he thinks desperately with a sob. It must have fallen out of his pocket sometime during the attack, and now in the darkness he can’t find it. He’s utterly alone, hopeless. 

_No_ , He forces himself to grit his teeth, getting shakily to his feet. If he can just make it to the apartment, Enjolras will be there, with Joly, and they can patch him up, they can save him. He just has to be strong enough to get up one flight of stairs. His knees shake at the thought. But he presses harder on the wound, leaning against the rough bricks of the neighboring building for support. Slowly, painfully, he limps towards his apartment door. 

_Just ten more feet...five more...almost there..._ He thanks God their landlord never got the lock on the door fixed, as it spares him trying to find his keys with numb fingers. He pries the door open and has to lean heavily against the wall for a moment, panting. He’s starting to feel dizzy, like the world is spinning. His eyes flutter closed and his knees nearly buckle. He’s so tired, more tired that he was even when he left the hospital. He could just fall asleep... 

_No!_ If he falls asleep here, he’ll bleed to death in the stairwell and Enjolras and Courfeyrac will have to find his body when they leave for the night. The thought of his friends stumbling across his lifeless body wrenches another sob from his burning chest. Tears are dripping down his face, fueled by pain and misery. 

He makes himself grip the bannister and pull himself up. By the time he reaches the first landing, his chest is heaving with exertion and the world is tilting dangerously. He has to rest, but he also knows he’s running out of time. The blood flows freely over his fingers, soaking his scrubs. He doesn’t know for certain how much he’s lost, but he knows he can’t have much more left to give. With a terrible sob he presses on.

_Breathe...breathe, just breathe..._ His heart feels like it's going to burst from his chest.

Combeferre collapses against the doorframe when he finally reaches his front door, shaking and going limp with relief. His grip on his wound loosens as darkness starts encroaching on his vision. 

He pounds his blood splattered fist on the door. He can hear voices, laughter, and for a second he feels sorry for interrupting the enjoyment of their evening. That’s when he knows he’s lost all rational thought. 

His head falls forward, his neck unable to hold its weight anymore, hair falling in front of his eyes so he can’t see who opens the door as his knees give way. He doesn’t know whose arms encircle him, supporting him, as he loses sense and gives way to the blackness. 

 

“JOLY!” Courfeyrac shouts as Combeferre collapses in his arms. “JOLY COME HERE NOW!” The younger medical student had been in the living room, Bossuet and Enjolras in the kitchen while they waited for Combeferre to get home. As a result, thankfully, Joly is the first to reach the door. 

“Lay him on his back,” Joly instructs and the pair lay Combeferre flat on the wood floor. “Oh God, there’s so much blood.” Joly’s small hands pay no heed to the fountains of blood, quickly finding the wound and pressing hard on it. Combeferre moans, trying to twist away from the pain, but Courfeyrac holds him steady. 

“What do we do?” He cries. 

“Stay calm, calm as you can.” Bossuet and Enjolras have reached the living room, Bossuet in the lead. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight. 

“What-”

“Bossuet, call 911 and keep Enjolras back!” The blond hasn’t seen yet, brow furrowing at the instruction. Bossuet spins on his heel, grabbing Enjolras around the waist as their captain sees and his knees go weak. 

“Combeferre?” He cries, fighting against Bossuet’s strong arms. “Combeferre!!!” He _screams_ the name, the sound horrible and filled with desperate grief. “No, let me go, let me go to him, please-”

“Bossuet, call 911!” Joly cries. Courfeyrac rises and takes Enjolras in his arms, allowing Bossuet to grab the phone and dial emergency services. 

“It’s going to be okay, it’s okay, Enjolras-”

“No, no, no! _Fuck!_ Let me go!” 

“Shhh, let Bossuet call the ambulance, just shhh-”

“Hello? Hi, I need-um, 47 East 12th, apartment 3, I need an ambulance-” Joly blocks the rest of them out, focusing on trying to create a seal over the wound with his hand. 

“Combeferre,” He says gently, gripping his shoulder with his other hand. “Combeferre, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?” It obviously takes effort, chest heaving, but Combeferre manages to open his pain filled brown eyes. 

“Joly...” He croaks. 

“It’s going to be okay, ‘ferre.” Combeferre nods, swallowing hard. “Do you know what happened?”

“Knife,” He manages to croak out, wincing. Joly gasps. 

“Oh God, stabbed? But why...who?” But Combeferre isn’t listening anymore.

“Is that...is that Enjolras? I could hear him...crying my name...” Enjolras is fighting hard against Courfeyrac’s grip. “He needs me...I should...” Combeferre tries to get up, but Joly holds him back with a firm hand and he lets his head drop back to the ground with a painful grimace. Joly exchanges a look with Courfeyrac. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll let you go, Enjolras, but you have to calm down a bit first, deep breath that’s it.” Enjolras calms a little with the promise, taking a shaky full breath and then another, then letting Courfeyrac drag him across the floor to his friend’s prone form. He drops to his knees and takes Combeferre’s hand in his own. 

“It’s...going to be...okay...Enjolras...”

“I should be telling you that,” Enjolras says with a watery smile, squeezes his cold fingers. 

“I’m...sorry...” Enjolras lets out a sob. He leans forward, pressing their foreheads together and carding his fingers through Combeferre’s hair. 

“You’re going to be okay, ‘ferre, I promise.” Bossuet steps over them, muttering about meeting the paramedics downstairs. 

“Stay with me,” Combeferre all but begs, pressing closer to Enjolras. 

“I’m going to stay right here, I’m not going to leave you, I promise.” Suddenly their apartment is full of people, medics dropping heavy bags on the ground and flanking the small group of students. Hands are all over Combeferre, and Enjolras has to suppress a sudden, violent urge to lash out at those who are touching his friend. He refuses to let go of his friend’s hand, even as the paramedics push him away to fit an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, pricking an IV into his skin. The police are there too and they take Courfeyrac away to question him in the corner, but there are no answers any of them can give. 

Then they’re bundling Combeferre onto a stretcher, trying to detach Enjolras, but he only clutches harder. 

“Please,” He begs them, and one with kind eyes relents. 

“You just have to let go when we go down the stairs, you can stay with him, that’s it, come with me.” His voice is gentle and Enjolras feels Bossuet at his elbow, guiding him after them, a blood soaked, shaken Joly and Courfeyrac trailing. 

“Are you going to be okay on your own in the ambulance, Enjolras?” Bossuet is asking him when they emerge out onto the street, blinking at the harsh flashing lights. The blond seems dazed, and he has to repeat the question twice before Enjolras manages to nod, firming his expression. Bossuet frowns, but with a look at the kind paramedic comforts him and he allows Enjolras to take his hand and be pulled up into the ambulance, regaining his grip on Combeferre. 

“Did you catch what hospital?” Courfeyrac is wringing his hands.

“Bellevue!” Joly cries, catching up to them. They watch the ambulance pull away. The police officers are standing close, watching them. “Someone needs to stay here, with the cops, but we can’t leave Enjolras alone at the hospital, he’s freaking out.”

“I’ll stay,” Bossuet assures them. “You two go, be with Combeferre and Enjolras.” Joly lets out a sob, glancing at one of the officers. 

“What if whoever... _stabbed_ Combeferre,” Courfeyrac twitches. “Comes back...an-and-”

“It’s alright, sir,” The officers says. “We have to stay until the crime scene guys get here, and we’ll remain until we’re sure its safe.”

“And I’ll call Bahorel and Feuilly to come help. It’ll be okay, love,” Bossuet says, giving Joly a kiss on the forehead. “Go, I’ll make all the calls. Just be there for ‘ferre and Enjolras.” Joly gives him a strained smile, then Courfeyrac grabs his hand and they’re running towards the main street, flagging down a cab. 

Bossuet takes a deep breath and the officer directs him to sit down by the steps. 

“We’ll take care of your apartment first sir, so you can go back in. But for now just hang tight here.” He nods and pulls out his cell phone. 

He calls Eponine first, but she doesn’t answer. Gavroche’s orchestra recital. She won’t be able to answer for a while. He leaves a message that hopefully sounds less alarming than it is. 

“Hey, Eponine, something’s happened, I need you to call me, or Joly, or Courf, as soon as you get this. It’s really important. I’ll try you back in an hour.” 

He dials Grantaire next, but the artist also doesn’t pick up. He must be painting, he had left earlier to work on a project due Monday. He always paints with headphones in and music blasting, so he won’t be disturbed. 

“Grantaire, call me back as soon as you get this, or Joly, or Courf. Something happened, something really bad, and Enjolras needs you right now. I’ll try you back in a while.” He calls Bahorel next, with fingers that are starting to shake. 

“Oh thank God,” He breathes when Bahorel answers. 

“This better be good, I was in the middle of something.” He can hear Feuilly’s irritated groan in the background and a long exhale of air, of smoke. 

“I need you both at the apartment, right now.”

“Now? We just left. And we were-”

“Look, I know you two were fucking but Combeferre was stabbed outside our apartment, and I don’t know who did it, and there are cops everywhere and I’m really freaking out.” There’s a stunned silence at the other end. 

“Is he-”

“They took him to the hospital, Joly and Courf and Enjolras went with, he was alive, but there was so much blood-”

“Okay, I’m going to be right there, we’re going to be right there, shit, Feuilly get up! Just hang tight, Bossuet, we’ll be right there!” Bahorel curses again and hangs up. Bossuet lets out a relieved breath. At least he wouldn’t be alone for much longer, stewing in his worry among swarming cops. 

_Please, God, let him be alright,_ he thinks, unable to fathom losing their guide, their Combeferre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I wonder if I'm evil for doing this to my favorite Ami...


	3. The ED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras is not holding it together, and Joly ends up surprisingly in charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reviews/kudos! (Not actually sure what kudos are, but I like them :D) Here's the next installment. Hope you enjoy!

The security guards are trying unsuccessfully to pull Enjolras out of the trauma room when Joly and Courfeyrac skid into the emergency room. Courfeyrac instantly squeezes around the guards to grip Enjolras’ shoulders. 

“Come on, come on, let them do their jobs-”

“I promised I would stay with him,” Enjolras protests in a rough voice. Joly peers around them, stomach clenching unpleasantly at Combeferre’s bloody hand, limp, hanging over the edge of the stretcher. Combeferre’s eyes are drifting closed, his breathing even. Drugs pump sluggishly into his veins from a bag of saline, through an IV. He’s nearly out, it’s plain to see, which is a good thing, since the doctors and nurses are prodding at his wound, without thought to the pain. He doesn’t seem to feel a thing, and for that, Joly’s not sure whether to be relieved or frightened. The attending, standing a little on the outside of the frenzied work, overseeing, spares a glance for the commotion. 

“Let him say goodbye?” Joly asks her when he catches her eye. She nods. 

“Quickly, we want to get him up to surgery as fast as we can.”

“Thank you.” Courfeyrac leads Enjolras over, whispering in his ear. 

“Just tell him you’ll see him later, then we’ll go get you cleaned up and wait patiently for them to come get us.” The blond nods. The sea of blue scrubs part to make way for him. He whispers something into Combeferre’s ear. Combeferre opens his eyes, breathing shallowly. He’s unable to speak, between the oxygen mask on his face and the drugs they’re pumping into him, but he reaches up a weak hand to brush Enjolras’ cheek. Enjolras bends down and kisses Combeferre’s forehead. With a sad, reassuring smile, Enjolras allows Courfeyrac to lead him away as tears start falling down his cheeks again. 

Joly remains, unnoticed, in the chaos, watching as the nurses talk to his friend and start to cut off his clothes. 

“Sweetie, we’re going to give you some drugs to make you sleep, just relax, it’s going to be okay-”

“The bleeding’s slowed, lets start pushing blood products, we got enough of his bloody type for surgery?” 

“Don’t worry, he’s AB+, rare as hell but it’ll save his life tonight-”

“I really want to get his pressure up before we put him under the knife, it’s much too low-”

“Medical student, just an intern, still in his scrubs, poor thing-” The blue fabric falls away, exposing the ugly hole in his stomach. Joly suddenly feels like he’s going to be ill, though he’s never been squeamish around blood before. He gives the now unconscious Combeferre a final glance, then makes his way past the staff, past the medics giving report to the doctors, and the security guard direct him to the waiting room where his friends are. 

Enjolras is inconsolable. Joly’s never seen him like this before, not in all the years he’s know him, and neither has Courfeyrac, judging by the utterly bewildered look on his face. He’s wrapped in Courfeyrac’s embrace, but he pays him no mind, violently shaking and sobbing. 

“I don’t, I don’t understand-” He’s crying when Joly walks in. “Why him? Why _Combeferre?_ ” 

“I don’t know, Enjolras, I don’t know, but he’s going to be okay, I promise-”

“You can’t promise that, you can’t, you don’t know, what if he-”

“Hush, hush Enjolras, it’s okay.” Courfeyrac rocks him gently in his arms, shushing him as he cries. Joly kneels before him, entwining their hands. There’s a hollowness in his chest, and he can’t make the same assurances as Courfeyrac, because he doesn’t believe them himself. So he doesn’t say anything, just holding tight to Enjolras’ shaking fingers until, finally, after what seems like hours but can’t be more than a few minutes, Enjolras stills, slumping back on Courfeyrac, too exhausted to keep crying. Courfeyrac keeps petting his brilliant curls, rocking him, letting him rest his head on his shoulder. Joly releases Enjolras’ hands. 

“I’m going to go check with the doctor, get cleaned up. You have him?” Courfeyrac nods over the blond’s head. Enjolras won’t look at either of them, sniffling pitifully, his eyes and nose red. “I’ll bring back some water.” 

Joly feels better having a goal, and, after spending a good fifteen minutes in the bathroom mutely scrubbing his hands, he manages to find that attending who let Enjolras into the trauma room, checking her phone by the water fountain. 

“Um, excuse me, ma’am?” He asks hesitantly. He’s still in the phase where the doctors he doesn’t know are unapproachable and slightly intimidating, he’s afraid of disturbing them. But she gives him a warm smile and helps him fill a plastic pitcher with water. 

“Your friend went up to surgery. I was just about to come take you three upstairs.”

“Do you know-” Joly swallows. “What’s going to happen?” 

“It’s a serious wound, but we don’t think it hit anything too badly. Maybe nicked the liver, which would account for the blood loss. The surgeons are very good at their jobs, they’ll stitch him up.”

“But couldn’t he...couldn’t he still bleed out? Or stop breathing, or the shock could-”

“Calm down. All those things _could_ happen. But we can take care of it if they do. Now all you need to focus on is staying calm and taking care of your other friends, and, I know it’s frustrating, waiting. I’ll take you upstairs and then you’ll have to answer some questions for registration, okay?” Joly manages to nod and lets her lead him back to the waiting room. 

Enjolras is still passively slumped against Courfeyrac and his expression doesn’t change as the physician explains what’s going on. Courfeyrac has to support him on the way to the sixth floor. When they’re in a private waiting room, Courfeyrac makes him drink water then lay down with his head resting in Courfeyrac’s lap. The doctor gives them a sympathetic look. 

“Someone will come get you if anything changes, or when you can see him.” Courfeyrac nods and Joly gives Enjolras’ curls a pat before the nurse calls him out to register. 

He answers the questions about Combeferre’s past medical history as best he can, knowing that Enjolras would be better equipped, but is utterly incapable. He just barely ignores the scathing look the woman gives him when he tells her no, they don’t need anyone called, his boyfriend is taking care of it. It hurts though, on top of everything else , and he leans against the wall when she’s done and wheeling her computer away. He calls the one person who can make him feel okay. 

“Hey, Lesgle,” He whispers. 

“You okay?” Bossuet asks him. 

“Yeah, Combeferre’s in surgery, Courfeyrac just managed to calm Enjolras down.”

“Bahorel and Feuilly are here. Jehan’s on his way to you guys. I tried to call Eponine and Grantaire, but they wouldn’t pick up.” 

“Okay.”

“As soon as the cops are done here, we’re coming to the hospital.” Joly wants nothing more than to have his eagle here with them. But he sighs, forcing himself to do the right thing.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Enjolras is seriously freaking, I think the less people crowding him the better, at least until Grantaire gets here. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“Okay, if you think that’s best.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Joly, so much. It’s going to be okay.” 

He leaves the comfort of the hall and Bossuet, returning to Enjolras and Courfeyrac. 

Enjolras is sitting up now, obediently drinking water, with Courfeyrac hovering close beside him. Joly sits on his other side and slides his hand into Enjolras’. The blond sighs heavily and lets himself be wrapped in his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not quite out of the woods. But a little better, right? 
> 
> I have busy weeks so I'll probably only be able to post on the weekends. I have almost all of it written so I won't leave you (or 'ferre) hanging.


	4. Chapter 3: Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire's ipod finally dies and no one's sure what Eponine's been up to.

Grantaire has the fire tonight, when painting comes as easily as breathing. It’s like divine grace, flowing through his arm and onto his canvas. The music pounds in his ears as he paints, until his ipod chirps, warning him of imminent battery death. It is only then that he forces himself to take a break, checking his phone.

Six missed calls. Four voicemails. One text.

That can’t be good.

His heart drops into his stomach as he reads the text first. It’s from Bossuet, as are four of the missed calls.

_R- I know you’re wrapped up in your painting, but Enjolras really needs you right now. Surgery Dept., 6th floor, Bellevue Hospital. Come soon as you can._

Now he’s really panicking, stumbling over his supplies, wrenching on his jacket. When he hits the stairs of his building, he runs, sprinting through the streets of New York with no mind to the people he’s shoving out of the way or the way his chest burns (Grantaire is decidedly not athletic) and his heart pounds. All he can think of is his Enjolras, his Apollo, and what could possibly have happened to him. He listens to the voicemails as he runs, hearing enough to realize that it’s not Enjolras who’s hurt, but not enough to understand what really happened. When he gets to the hospital, he’s stopped by the receptionist.

“I’m sorry sir, you need a visitor’s badge.”

“Sorry, right, I got a call that I need to meet my boyfriend on the surgery floor, but I don’t know what happened and they didn’t give me any instruction-”

“It’s okay, just give me an ID and I’ll give you a badge and you can head up.” Grantaire pries his license from his wallet with shaking fingers, fidgeting as she places it in a box and hands him a visitor’s badge. “Sixth floor, first set of elevators.” He thanks her, and jogs, slamming his thumb into the button so hard he could break it. He doesn’t know where to go when he reaches the sixth floor, looking left and right as he emerges from the elevator. He’s about to start panicking again when he spots long blonde hair.

“Jehan!” He calls, making the poet whip around. “Where’s Enjolras? I got a text, I don’t know-” Jehan beckons him over, to a closed door.

“I have to let Joly explain...I can’t-” He chokes back a sob. Grantaire shoves the door open, legs going weak as he finally sees his love, his Apollo. Enjolras’ face is red and puffy, it’s obvious he’s been crying heavily. There’s a streak of blood on his cheek and his trembling hands are stained by it. When his grief clouded blue eyes meet Grantaire’s he loses it, sobs tearing from his chest as he reaches out for him with shaking, desperate hands. Bossuet was right, Enjolras needed him and he feels horribly guilty for letting him down. Courfeyrac gets up to let Grantaire sit next to Enjolras, who grips his shirt with trembling fists and buries his face in the artists’ chest. Grantaire wraps his arms around Enjolras’ shaking form, rubbing his back and laying kisses on his curls. Over his head, he counts off his friends in the room. _Courf...Joly...Jehan here...Bossuet on the phone...Feuilly and Bahorel each left a message...all accounted for..._

That leaves Marius, Cosette, Eponine, and...

_Oh._ He’s shocked he didn’t realize it immediately. Enjolras cares for them all deeply, but there’s only one person who could reduce him to this shivering, weeping mess.

“Oh, God, Combeferre.” Enjolras shudders hard at the name and Grantaire clutches him tighter. “What happened?” Faces stare blankly back at him.

“We’re not sure,” Courfeyrac says finally. “He just showed up at the door...and he was bleeding...”

“Someone stabbed him,” Joly says, looking pale and terrified. “They think it nicked his liver, they’re trying to stitch it up.” Everyone is silent as Grantaire takes this in, stroking Enjolras’ hair.

“Eponine-”

“We tried calling her as much as we called you,” Jehan explains. “She was at Gavroche’s orchestra recital, but she’s still not picking up...” He nods, turning his attention to Enjolras.

“Hey, look at me,” He whispers and Enjolras lifts his head from his chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Enjolras blinks up at him through his pale lashes.

“It’s okay,” He murmurs. “I knew you were painting. I’m just...I’m so scared, Grantaire. I can’t lose him, I can’t.” Grantaire hugs him, kissing the tears from his cheeks.

“I know, I know, baby. Shhh, just rest. It’ll be okay soon.” Enjolras snuggles into him in a way that he never has before, and with a jolt, Grantaire realizes exactly how vulnerable his headstrong boyfriend is at this moment. He’s glass of the thinnest, most delicate variety. Grantaire carefully places his hands around him and strokes his hair, praying he wouldn’t break.

 

An hour later, it’s nearly 1 am, and Enjolras has finally calmed, stopped crying but still leans against Grantaire’s comforting bulk. Grantaire strokes his hair, over and over. There’s been no word from the doctors, though Joly’s gone to ask several times. It’s quiet in the little waiting room, but no one sleeps.

They are startled out of their silence by the loud arrival of Eponine.

She bursts into the room, hair a mess, with wild eyes, and promptly bursts into tears. Grantaire tightens his arms around Enjolras, in case her hysterics set off his again.

“I’m so sorry,” She’s sobbing, burying her face in her hands. Hands with bloodied knuckles. “It’s all my fault, I’m so sorry!” Everyone stares at her with wide, shocked eyes. Joly shakily approaches her, cautiously laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Eponine, what are you talking about?”

“It was _Montparnasse_ ,” She croaks, dropping her hands. A terrifying fury burns in her eyes. “I got the message at Gavroche’s recital and I took him to Cosette’s and then I was going to come here and all of a sudden Azelma called me.” They know she hasn’t spoken to her sister in months. “And she said that Montparnasse had come back to their _fucking_ apartment with blood on his hands and his knife, bragging about teaching some medical student a lesson and I just _knew_.” She takes a deep breath, going very still. Her hands clench into fists. “So I went to find him. I know I should have just come here...but I couldn’t...I couldn’t let him get away with it...” They’re all reminded that Eponine has a very different background, a very different level of faith in law enforcement.

“You’ll have to tell the police,” Joly says gently and Eponine nods, turning her wide brown eyes on him.

“How is he?”

“We haven’t heard anything yet.” A sob tears from her throat.

“I’m so, so sorry. Oh God, it’s all my fault. He was hurt because of me.” She looks around at all of them, staring at her, and starts backing out of the room. “I should go, I shouldn’t be here, I should-”

“Stop.” A quiet, authoritative voice says. Enjolras. Contrary to Eponine’s outbursts making him more hysterical, they seem to have calmed him. He is looking at the girl with utmost pity and understanding in his eyes. He holds out a bloodied hand for hers. She takes two hesitant steps forward, and when Enjolras doesn’t lower his arm, takes his hand. The blood mingles on their hands as they entwine their fingers and he pulls her gently to sit beside him on the couch.

“But it’s my fault.”

“It’s not,” Enjolras says quietly and Eponine goes limp, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Oh God,” Her voice breaks. Courfeyrac places a hand on her arm.

“We’ll get through this.” She squeezes Enjolras’ hand and they lapse back into silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness/continuing suspense/little action in this chapter. If I have time during the week I'll post the next chapter, but I can't make any promises. Hope you enjoyed!


	5. And...Exhale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group finally gets news and we learn a little about what happened to Eponine from a mysterious detective.

Not longer after Eponine’s arrival a surgeon finally knocks on their door and they all hold their breaths.

“Surgery went very, very well,” He says, and they all exhale at once. “The knife did some damage to Mr. Combeferre’s liver, but we stitched it up and stopped the blood flow, and managed to restore a bit of the blood he lost. Nothing essential was irreversibly damaged, and though his pressure dropped dangerously a couple of times during the operation, he’s now stable and sleeping comfortably. We had to put him on a ventilator for the duration of the surgery, but we were able to take him off without complication and he’s breathing on his own.” Tears are dripping down Eponine and Jehan’s faces and Enjolras has started shaking again, squeezing Eponine’s hand tightly.

“So he’s going to be alright?” Grantaire asks, rubbing Enjolras’ arm.

“I can foresee nothing else that could go wrong. We’ll put him on prophylactic antibiotics to stave off infection, and he’ll need a lot of rest, but he’ll make a full recovery. He’ll be a great doctor himself one day.” At this, Joly bursts into tears, Courfeyrac throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Now, only one or two of you will be able to stay with him tonight. The rest can return during normal visiting hours.” There is no debate on who will stay.

“You’ll be okay?” Grantaire asks Enjolras, who nods.

“Yeah, I just want to see ‘ferre.”

“We’ll bring you some things in the morning.” Joly says. “Call us if you need anything, anything at all.”

“Thank you,” Eponine says sincerely to the doctor.

The surgeon leaves and a nurse beckons them. Enjolras doesn’t let go of Eponine’s hand as they are lead to a darkened room, where Combeferre is lying, pale against crisp hospital sheets. Enjolras finally releases Eponine’s hand so they can separate, each going to one side of their friend. He’s so very pale, with dark circles under his eyes, but he doesn’t look like he’s in pain. Tubes run to the back of his hand and under his nose, supplying medicine and oxygen. Eponine smiles tearily at him, petting back a strand of chestnut brown hair.

“I’m so sorry,” She whispers. Enjolras takes his hand and he stirs, cracking open drowsy brown eyes. They’re clouded with the drugs but he smiles at the both of them.

“Don’t look...so grave...both of you. Or blurry. Where are my glasses?” He rasps and Eponine chuckles through her tears.

“Goddammit, ‘ferre, you almost died.” She sniffles. Combeferre’s hand tightens on theirs.

“But I didn’t.” Eponine kisses his forehead.

“Thank God, thank God,” She whispers.

Enjolras can’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say, how to voice the horrible sick worry that had consumed him from the moment he saw his best friend lying, bleeding, on the floor. As Eponine showers Combeferre with kisses, he looks at Enjolras.

“Enjolras?” Enjolras swallows. “I’m okay.” He’s shaking again, _goddammit, stop shaking..._

“You...you...” He has to blink back tears, clear his throat of a lump. “You were bleeding...so much...I was so scared.”

“I know.” Eponine is looking at him now too, and he can’t handle their scrutiny.

“I can’t live without you,” He admits in a whisper.

“You don’t have to, not now. Come here.” Combeferre pulls at his hand, tugging him into the bed. Enjolras is careful of the tubes, of hurting his friend, but after a moment, he is able to curl up next to Combeferre on the thin mattress, pressing their shoulders together. Eponine pulls over a chair and sits by the side of the bed, resting her head on Combeferre’s thigh. She strokes his knuckles, tracing his fingers, the veins in his hand.

“You never answered the glasses question.” Combeferre grumbles irritably.

“I was a little preoccupied to note the location of your spectacles. We can have Joly bring the spare pair in the morning.” Enjolras presses his nose to Combeferre’s hair, surprised at how normal his voice sounds after a rough night.

“Is Joly okay? I remember him kneeling over me...”

“He’s been wonderful. I was worried he was going to fall apart but ah...” Enjolras turns pink and won’t look at either Combeferre or Eponine, both of whom are studying him intently.

“Oh, Enjolras,” Combeferre chuckles drowsily.

“I kind of lost it there for a while...I don’t think anyone else had room to freak out...” Eponine reaches over with the hand not occupied by Combeferre’s hand to rub Enjolras’ shin comfortingly. Combeferre’s quiet for a minute, eyes drooping closed.

“Love you too, ‘jolras,” He finally murmurs, resting his head on Enjolras’ shoulder.

“Just sleep, baby,” Eponine says. He obeys, falling back into a drug induced sleep. Enjolras and Eponine surround him, securely anchoring him to the world. If it had been frightening to slip under in the trauma room, with nurses’ hands all over him and bright lights overhead, it is now comforting. The steady beeping of the monitor, Enjolras’ heartbeat, and the gentle touch of his dearest friends, cradle him as he lets the drugs take over and knows no more.

 

They are woken a couple times during the night by nurses, checking on Combeferre’s condition, and once as Combeferre squeezes their hands in pain and they have to soothe and distract him until the next dose of drugs floods into his system and takes him under. Eponine had kissed the pained tears that had escaped his squeezed shut eyes as Enjolras wrapped his arms around him, enveloping him in warmth.

The two boys are sleeping peacefully now, as Eponine sits up and cracks her neck. She massages the stiff muscles with a bitter glance at Enjolras, curled comfortably next to Combeferre. _Oh, he is so trading me tomorrow night, I swear to God..._

With a last squeeze of her boyfriend’s hand, she releases his fingers, and heads out into the hall. It’s around seven in the morning and she seriously needs a cup of coffee. But as she heads down towards the cafeteria, a very tall man grabs her arm, making her start violently.

“Sorry, Ms. Thenardier?” She throws off his hand on her arm, taking a defensive step back. Years of living with her family and running with Montparnasse, and all that had happened the night before has made her distrustful.

“Yeah, that’s me...”

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to talk about what happened last night. My name is Detective Javert, and I think you know something about what happened to your boyfriend.”

 

Javert buys her a cup of coffee, which Eponine thinks is pretty nice for a cop. A cop’s never bought her coffee before, but back then they had never seen her as a victim, not really. She had always been half a victim, half a suspect. Every domestic violence call, they’d always question what she’d been doing, if she’d been drinking, on drugs. She’s not sure if its her change in circumstances, to the girlfriend of a bright young medical student who was attacked rather than the drunk bitch of a drug dealer, or if its this cop in particular, but she suddenly feels like he’s going to actually listen to what she has to say. He looks at her with a very intense gaze. Eponine wraps her bruised fingers around the steaming cup, letting the liquid warm them through the styrofoam.

“I can’t tell you exactly what happened in the alley, but I can tell you how I found out who did it and what I did to him.” Javert’s eyebrow jumps at this sudden admission. He obviously doesn’t know who she is, what’s she’s done in the past. She sees him glance at her bloody knuckles, and he nods very slowly.

“I’ll question Mr. Combeferre when he’s feeling a bit better, but I would like to hear your side of the story.” Eponine takes a deep breath.

“I’m my brother’s primary guardian and last night he had a recital at his school. He plays the flute in the orchestra. Combeferre had the evening shift in the ER, so we had lunch in the afternoon and then I didn’t see him until I got to the hospital last night. I turned my phone off during the concert and when I turned it on again I had...all these messages.” Her next deep breath is shaking. “I called our friend Bossuet and he told me that Combeferre had been attacked, but they didn’t know what happened, he had just shown up at the door, covered in blood. He told me he was in surgery, and they weren’t sure if he was going to be alright or not.” She has to stop to wipe away a tear.

“What time was this?”

“Uh, around 10:30 maybe? A little closer to 11. I didn’t want to tell Gavroche, that’s my little brother, so I just told him that I had to go in to work, and I took him to my friend Marius and his girlfriend. I was leaving there to come to the hospital when my phone rang again. It was my sister. I hadn’t talked to her in months, since I had taken my brother from our house and ran. She’s a-” She hesitates.

“Ms. Thenardier, I’m only concerned about the identity of Mr. Combeferre’s assailant. Crimes committed by anyone else will be subsequently ignored.” Eponine relaxes a bit.

“She’s a drug addict, and sometimes a whore, which is why she keeps running around with Montparnasse. He’s a dealer...I used to be...involved with. But I got clean, and broke it off with him. He wasn’t happy with that, but I never thought...Dammit. Azelma told me...he had come back to their apartment with blood on his hands, giddy, laughing about...about sloppy seconds and teaching some medical student a lesson. And I just _knew_. It was so fucking obvious. I lost it. I’m not proud of it, I know I should have let it go, just come straight here, but I couldn’t. I had to find him.” Javert glances again at her bloody knuckles.

“That was very foolish. You could have been seriously hurt.”

“He wouldn’t have hurt me. That’s the whole point. He wants me back, he wants to hurt the people around me...he wants to hurt them so I get so desperate to protect them that I leave.” She takes a compulsive sip of her coffee. It’s too hot, scalding her tongue and throat, but the burn soothes. “I found him at the Patron-Minette, downtown, you know the club? He hangs out in the back room sometimes. I kicked his ass.” She brushes her right thumb over the scrapes on her left hand. “Not enough to really hurt him, I mean, he’s huge and I’m not exactly Rocky, but if he’s sporting a black eye when you finally track him down, that’s down to me. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, ma’am,” Javert says, pushing a notebook across the linoleum table. “Write it down, then sign and date the statement. I’ll be up on the sixth floor when you’re done.”

Eponine takes her time writing out the words she had told Javert, making her handwriting perfect, adding in details. Her coffee grows cold in her cup. When she’s finished writing, she’s resolved in her plan. It breaks her heart, and she knows it will break Combeferre’s, and everyone else’s, but she must do it.

She has to leave.

But not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See guys! I couldn't kill Combeferre, I just couldn't do it. I totally couldn't handle his death in the book. :,( 
> 
> Now, next time we get to go into some of the aspects of the aftermath, as everyone else starts to spiral a bit.
> 
> I'm not 100% sure I've properly captured Eponine or Javert, but I'm working on a sequel with Eponine that I hope gets a bit better. Let me know if you have any thoughts on improvements! (I'm trying to get her a bit closer to the fun madness of book!Eponine. It's kind of hard.)


	6. Finally Combeferre's Turn...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...to lose it just a little bit.

When Eponine finally finishes her statement, she signs it with a flourish, tosses her cup in the trast, and returns to Combeferre’s room. The sun has properly risen now, and someone has woken the two boys. Combeferre looks pale and sweaty, focusing hard on scribbling on a legal pad much like the one Eponine had just been writing on. Enjolras is perched in Eponine’s chair, arms crossed and watching Javert warily. The blond has adopted a rather animalistic protectiveness over his friend, twitching whenever a stranger gets too close. 

The nurse’s morning check-up was a stressful time for everyone.

“We’ve already got bulletins out for Montparnasse. There are twenty warrants out in six states for the bastard, but I’ll make sure this one takes precedence.”

“Just as long as he can’t hurt anyone else,” Combeferre says with a glance at Eponine. She merely hands her pages to Javert and sits by Combeferre’s knee. He picks up his pages, holding them close to his half blind eyes. “This is exceedingly annoying without my glasses.”

“Joly’s on his way.”

“I don’t think they’re going to judge your spelling,” Eponine says with a smile. The smile droops when she notices how his hands shake. “Or your handwriting.” 

“Hmm.” Combeferre finishes his statement and signs it. 

“I’ll have a police officer outside your door until you’re released. A patrol car will drive by your apartment every hour, on the hour. If there is anything you remember, or anything you need, here’s my card.” Combeferre takes it and turns it over in his fingers. 

“Thank you.” Javert gives them all a curt nod and leaves them alone. Combeferre out a sigh. “I doubt Montparnasse would be stupid enough, or frankly care enough, to go back to the apartment, but I’m comforted nonetheless.”

“Bahorel’s there now too, he won’t let anything happen to the others.” Combeferre nods at Enjolras’ statement, then turns to Eponine, grasping her hand. 

“Why was yours so long? It looked like a full essay.”

“You can’t see anything, how would you know?” She teases playfully. 

“I can see squiggles. And multiple sheets. And what happened to your knuckles?” His voice is lightly questioning, but there’s darkness in his eyes. Eponine turns to Enjolras. 

“Have you betrayed me?” Enjolras twists his mouth, looking away. “Nice, I thought we were finally a united front, and you sold me out.”

“What was I supposed to do, lie?”

“I very much doubt Enjolras has the strength of will to refuse me a thing right now,” Combeferre says, ignoring the aforementioned Enjolras’ grumbles. “But you two can work that out later. Why would you go after him?”

“I just...” Eponine closes her eyes. “I just lost it. It was my fault-” Combeferre’s hand tightens on hers. “I couldn’t let him get away.”

“He could have killed you.”

“He wouldn’t have. I still have enough allies at the Patron-Minette to protect me.” Combeferre looks unbearable sad and Eponine finally understands why Enjolras was so quick to spill her nighttime activities. She would say anything to make Combeferre stop looking at her with _those eyes._

“It wasn’t your fault, Ep,” He says, on the verge of tears. “Don’t think that, don’t think anyone blames you. I’d do it again-” Enjolras twitches, making a noise deep in his throat. “I would do it again, because a little pain-”

“A little pain! You were _stabbed_ , Combeferre, have you gone completely mad!” Eponine cries.

“A little pain is worth it, to keep you away from them.” Eponine doesn’t know what else to do, so she kisses him softly. 

“Let’s talk about this later, okay? When you can see me?” Combeferre smiles, though it is weak.

“Where is Joly with my glasses?” He groans in jest, head dropping back against the pillows. 

 

Joly is just now scrambling around the apartment, a mess, gathering up things he thinks Combeferre would need. 

“He’d probably want something to read, right? But should I bring him one of his textbooks, or something fun? Oh, maybe I should just wait and ask him.”

“Joly, sweetheart, you need to take a breath,” Bossuet says from the kitchen table, where he sits with Bahorel and Feuilly. “Have some breakfast.” The three men at the table watch the young medical student with concern. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“Joly, you need to eat.” Feuilly says softly, almost hypocritically. He’s thin as a rail and hasn’t touched any of the toast Bossuet prepared. 

“I’m fine.” Bossuet makes a noise of discontent. The image of Joly on his hands and knees from the night before, crying, is too vivid in his mind. 

Joly had come back to the apartment after leaving the hospital, unable to sleep until the stain of blood was washed from their floor. He cried as he scrubbed and Bossuet begged him to stop. Finally, when the water cracked the skin of Joly’s fingers, he dropped the stained red rag and sobbed. Bossuet had to carry him to bed as Bahorel and Feuilly watched in horror. The two of them cleared up the water and the rag, without speaking. Joly had done an admirable job on the floor, but there is a brown stain on the panels that will probably never come up.

Feuilly slept on the couch that night, Bahorel on the floor. Combeferre’s room went untouched.

Joly continued bustling around the apartment, Bossuet too tired to corral him, until the phone rang. Joly was closest, so he picked it up.

“Hello?” He answers, his voice tight. “Oh my God, I completely forget to call you.” Joly slaps a hand to his forehead. Bossuet gives him a questioning look, Joly waves him off. He slips into the bedroom to finish the call. Bossuet can hear his voice through the wall, a tad distressed, but not enough to warrant intervention.

He returns after only a few minutes.

“Thank you,” Joly whispers into the phone, hanging up. “It was the university. Calling to see why Combeferre hadn’t shown up for his shift this morning.” The phone call seems to have steadied him. He sits at the kitchen table and lets Bossuet ply him with toast and coffee. 

“Do you think you’re ready to head to the hospital?” Bossuet asks gently and Joly nods. 

“Yes, I have everything.” He picks up the bag. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you, love?” Joly shakes his head. 

“I don’t want to crowd him so early, but he needs these things. I’ll text you three later when you can come. You’ll have to coordinate with Courfeyrac and Jehan and Grantaire.” 

“Of course...”

 

Joly arrives at the hospital at ten past eight, and finds Combeferre curled with Eponine on the bed and Enjolras in a chair, head in his hands. Combeferre’s lightly dozing, and something looks off about Eponine but Joly doesn’t understand it, and therefore ignores it. 

“Hey,” He says quietly, and the room comes alive. 

“Joly, have you brought my glasses?” Tears spring unbidden to his eyes. 

“What, no, hey, Joly, how are you Joly, oh, I’m fine, Joly.” He comes to stand at Combeferre’s shoulder. 

“I am fine, Joly, really, morphine is awesome, but I’d really like to see now.” Joly gives him a smile, pulling the case from his pocket. 

“Like I’d forget these. Enjolras texted me like, twenty times reminding me.” Combeferre shoots the blond a look, made much stronger by the long awaited return of his ever present spectacles.

“Speaking of Enjolras.” Enjolras looks at his friend with furrowed brow. 

“What?”

“Make him go home.” Enjolras makes a choked noise of protest. “He looks like he’s going to fall over.” Joly spares a glance. The blond is pale, with dark circles. His eyes are unfocused even as he glowers at all of them.

“Hmm, you’re right.”

“There’s no way I’m leaving,” Enjolras says firmly. 

“I’ll take him home,” Eponine says, kissing Combeferre’s cheek. 

“Traitor.” Enjolras fixes her with an impressive glare. 

“Payback’s a bitch. I have to go pick up Gavroche from Marius anyways. I’ll stop by later, kay?” Combeferre nods. “You alright, Joly?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice is high and doesn’t sound fine, but they let it go. Enjolras rises. 

“Please don’t make me go.” Combeferre reaches out a hand and closes his fingers around Enjolras’ forearm. 

“Go home, take a shower, get in bed. Get some rest. I’m going to be fine.” He punctuates his statements by squeezing Enjolras’ arm. “It’ll be okay.”

“Alright, but call me if...”

“Of course.” Eponine kisses his cheek, Enjolras kisses his forehead, and then she drags him from the hospital room. 

Leaving Joly with Combeferre. He sits on the edge of the bed, by Combeferre’s knee. 

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m sensing I’m going to get really tired of that question,” Combeferre says with a drawn smile. “I’ve been better,” He admits after a minute. “You were great last night.”

“No, I was...”

“You were great. You kept calm and tried to stop the bleeding and got me to the hospital. Thank you.” Combeferre’s smile is warm and sincere, like always. Joly jolts when he realizes how close they came to never seeing that smile again. 

“Any time,” Joly answers, his voice thick. “I um, I brought you things.” Combeferre raises his eyebrows. 

“Did you?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I just kind of threw random things in a bag, but,” Joly pulls the small duffel onto the chair. “I brought you the quilt from the couch, I know how much you like this quilt,” He drapes it over Combeferre’s legs. “And a couple of books...I wasn’t really sure what you wanted, so I brought...okay, I brought your USMLE prep book, which was probably a stupid idea, now that I think about it, and that Neil Gaiman book you’ve been meaning to read, which is much better, you really shouldn’t study for the boards from your hospital bed, that’s silly.”

“Thanks, Joly, really.” Combeferre folds his hands over the quilt, smoothing it in his lap. “Thanks for bringing me the quilt.”

“Yeah, sure thing. And some stuff for when you’re feeling better, toothbrush, sweatpants in case they let you wear pants. That sort of thing.” Joly sits again. “Um, before it gets weird...I just wanted to say...I just wanted...”

“What, Joly?”

“I know this is going to sound horribly melodramatic, but I just want to tell you how much you mean to me. You’ve been like...my big brother, since freshman year. And I was really, really scared I was going to lose you. That’s all.” Combeferre looks suspiciously teary. 

“I know, Joly. I was really scared I was going to leave you all.” Combeferre sniffles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Joly realizes that Combeferre’s been trying to hold it together, for the sakes of Enjolras and Eponine. That was the real reason he wanted Enjolras sent home; he didn’t want his best friend to see him break down, he didn’t want to scare him. He didn’t want to cry in front of Eponine, and make her guilt even worse. So Joly does what any good friend would-he provokes a breakdown. 

“It must have been terrifying.”

“I didn’t think I was going to make it up the stairs. I thought I was going to die...I thought that Enjolras and Courfeyrac were going to find my body...when they left...” Tears are starting to leak from his eyes. “And then, I didn’t think I was going to wake up, after they put me to sleep in the trauma room. I tried to stay awake, but they put me under and I _couldn’t_...” Tears are streaming now. “Ugh, sorry, it’s just the drugs,” Combeferre says, wiping at his cheeks. Joly catches his arm. 

“No...it’s not the drugs, Combeferre,” He says softly. “You’re allowed to feel this way. You went through a major trauma...you don’t have to stay strong for all of us.” Combeferre just looks at him for a moment, brown eyes wide. Then he starts to cry, _really_ cry, big heaving sobs that probably hurt, probably pull at his stitches. 

Joly just puts his arms carefully around him, and lets him sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> I realize that the climax of the action was before the first chapter even began, and this is all sappy emotional fluff, but I hope you're enjoying anyways. Les Amis are going to continue falling to pieces a little bit, and this incident is certainly going to have interesting ramifications (or at least I think so), so I hope I haven't lost anyone! 
> 
> In case you're wondering, there's about three chapters left of this installment, then I have two mini-sequels already written, plans for more mini-sequels, and a big one that involves a cross-over with another book-turned-musical. (Brownie points if anyone guesses it! I'll reveal the crossover in the epilogue of this piece of the series.)


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras contemplates his weakness, Eponine starts to make plans, and Joly feels sick (what else is new?).

Eponine insists on showing Enjolras to his door before she goes to pick up Gavroche, claiming it’s so he doesn’t run back to the hospital. Grantaire’s there when he arrives, tidying up the apartment.

“I didn’t expect you back here,” He says as he hugs him. 

“Combeferre kicked me out. He said I looked like I was going to fall over.”

“And he was right. Get in the shower. I’ll make coffee.” Enjolras is not used to being bossed around, especially in his own apartment, but he supposes if multiple people tell him he’s in need of a shower, he supposes he has to listen. 

Enjolras’ brain hasn’t stopped running since the second he rounded the corner and it put together the horrific math problem Combeferre+unconscious+blood. It keeps going through the same terrifying what if scenarios. _What if he doesn’t make it? What if he bleeds to death? What if I can never see my best friend again? What if Montparnasse comes back, for Combeferre, for one of us?_

_What if I can’t handle this? What if I can’t be strong enough to support them, if the worst happens?_

And when he was asleep, even pressed to Combeferre, those terrible dreams, dreams he can’t explain, but that leave him shaken and crying out half-French phrases and feeling more tired than before he went to sleep.

He forces himself to calm down in the heat of the shower. He just lets the water run over him, washing away the fear for just a little while. When the water starts running cold, he gets out and dresses, brushes his teeth. 

Enjolras studies himself in the mirror. He doesn’t often pay attention to his appearance, though he knows he’s considered attractive. He’s always considered it something of a hassel, an annoyance. He’s trying to change the world, he doesn’t have time to fend off the advances of stupid giggling girls and boys.

He doesn’t look attractive now. He looks exhausted and drawn. He looks a mess. He’s supposed to be the leader of their little group, and he doesn’t look like he could lead a troupe of girl scouts now. He looks incompetent. He looks weak. He feels humiliated when he thinks about the previous night, how out of control he was. But how could he have held it together, when his greatest friend was in some operating room, maybe dying? He couldn’t bear the thought of life without Combeferre, the only consistent presence in his life for over a decade. 

“Dammit,” He whispers, resting his head against the polished glass. 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire calls, rapping quietly on the door. “Courfeyrac and Jehan brought breakfast back, do you want something to eat? Coffee?” Enjolras opens the door. 

“I think I just want to lie down for a while.” Grantaire nods. 

“Okay. Come on.” They lie down flat on the covers. Grantaire strokes his wet hair back and hums something soft under his breath. Enjolras is asleep in seconds, thankfully not dreaming for once. 

 

Eponine has adopted a kind of emotional detachment to this whole thing. She goes through the motions, but for her real feelings, she locks them away deep inside. All her anger, all her grief, tucked away in that little part of her heart. She’ll deal with them later. Right now, she has to focus on the practicalities. She insisted on walking Enjolras to his door because his apartment is closest to the Cosette’s father’s home, where she sometimes left Gavroche before fleeing her family. 

Mr. Fauchelevent agrees to take care of him immediately, even offering to collect the boy from Cosette’s and Marius’ later, but Eponine wants to explain for herself. The kind older man looks at her sadly for a moment. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Eponine?” Eponine forces a smile. 

“Yeah, I just have a work thing for the weekend. Assisting on a student film shoot upstate. Thanks for asking.” Her next stop is to collect Gavroche. The eight year old is happy to see her, but can pick up on her odd mood better than anyone else. She buys him a hot chocolate and takes him uptown to Central Park. She lets him play and run around for a while, then sits him on a bench near the reservoir. 

“Gav, I need to go away for a while.” The boy frowns. 

“Okay. Why?” Eponine takes a deep breath. 

“Last night, Combeferre got hurt. Very badly. He’s going to be okay, but it was kind of my fault. I just need to get away for a little while. To protect him, so he won’t get hurt again.” It shows how much the child has been through that he doesn’t question this, just nods sadly. “You can stay with Mr. Fauchelevent, and hang out with Marius and Cosette, and I bet Courfeyrac will come over too.” Courfeyrac just had a natural ability with kids. Gavroche adored him, and brightens when his name is mentioned. 

He puts his thin little arms around her waist and Eponine pulls him into her lap. 

“When are you going to be back?” 

“I’m not sure, Gav.” 

“I’m going to miss you.” Tears prickle at the backs of Eponine’s eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m going to miss you too, little man. I’ll try to come back soon, promise.”

 

Combeferre had only really needed a good cry. His tears had slowed not long after they had begun, and among profuse apologies to Joly for breaking down, he calms. He and Joly now sit in peace, playing a vicious game of Words with Friends on Joly’s phone. He’s grateful for the distraction. 

“That cannot be a real word!” Joly exclaims, passing the phone back. “You’re just randomly entering letters until they stick, aren’t you?”

“Whoever said that wasn’t a legitimate strategy? Also, you’re beating me by a hundred points, I think I need all the help I can get.” Joly punches out his next play as Combeferre contemplates. “You know, this doesn’t seem exactly fair. I’m drug addled, in a hospital bed...shouldn’t you be letting me win?”

“You seem well enough...”

“Besides, he’s keeping your mind sharp so you can keep up when you return to school,” The doctor says as he enters. “I’m Dr. Martin, I just came on shift, mind if I check up on the incision?”

“No, it’s fine,” Combeferre says, looking a bit nervous. Joly climbs down off the bed, hovering close by and watching as the doctor carefully peels back the hospital gown and bandage to expose the stitches. Joly spends a second wondering if Combeferre would want him to leave, but a brief glance at Combeferre’s face makes him stay. 

The wound is about three inches in length, held together with black surgical thread that stands in stark contrast to Combeferre’s pale skin. There’s a bruise surrounding it, darker on one side. 

“Looks clean. They did a good job. It’s deep though,” The doctor remarks quietly to himself. “In a lot of pain?” Combeferre shakes his head. 

“A little, and it’s only really bad when the drugs start to wear off.”

“Tell the nurse if it gets to be too much, she can up the dosage.” Dr. Martin lightly traces the bruised skin, apologizing quietly when Combeferre winces. He sees Joly watching. “The bruising's from the handle of the knife, it’s darker on one side from the tilt of the impact. It makes it look worse than it is. I expect you’ll be on your feet in a week, back to normal not long after.”

“The nurse said this morning I’d probably only have to spent one more night on observation...are you quite alright, Joly?” Joly is not alright, but he is a medical student so he has to suck it up. _He’s a medical student_ , for God’s sake, he’s seen things much worse than this. It certainly looked much worse the previous night, without the stitches and having been cleaned up, and he had no qualms them about pressing his hands over it. Now he feels, and probably looks, a little green. But he nods his head, breathing through his nose and trying to suppress the sudden urge to vomit.

Dr. Martin gives him a small smile, covering the wound back up. 

“It’s always worse when it’s the flesh of a friend.” Joly gives a short nod. “I’d best let you rest. Call me, or the nurse, if there’s anything you need.” The doctor takes his leave and Joly sinks into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He really doesn’t want to vomit on the floor. 

When he raises his head, Combeferre is giving him a bemused, but tired smile. 

“Oh shut up. I think I’m getting a cold.” He sniffles. Combeferre just smiles at him and he groans. “Go to sleep.”

“With pleasure,” Combeferre murmurs. His breath evens out and his eyes slip closed. 

Joly spends the next half hour reading the book he had brought Combeferre. Eponine slips back in. 

“I dropped Gavroche off at his babysitter’s,” She whispers, pulling a second chair next to Joly’s. 

“Did you tell him what happened?”

“Not everything. But enough.”

“Will you bring him by?”

“No, not to the hospital. Maybe to the apartment...later. I don’t want Gavroche seeing him like this.” Eponine’s eyes shift suspiciously. 

“Are you alright? What happened-”

“Don’t ask me. Please. Just...Nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine.” Joly’s pretty certain everything’s not fine, judging by the look of grief on Eponine’s face. 

But he writes it off as her guilt over it being Montparnasse, and worry, and then the afternoon is filled with coordinating friends and making sure none of them bother Combeferre too much, and dealing with all their compounding problems (he hadn’t realized how much all of the Amis depended on Combeferre). He completely forgets about the strange look on Eponine's face and the sense he had that something was really wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a little bit of a slow chapter, but it's kind of a bridge between the main action and summing this installment. The next chapter will be the last major one, then there will be a short epilogue, setting up the main sequel. (Which I haven't started writing, so it will be a while.) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! See you next week!


	8. A Homecoming and a Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre returns from the hospital, Enjolras worries, and Eponine remains firm in her decision...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update! Especially with the last full chapter, but finals kind of ate my life. I have six this year. Six. Exams. Urgh.

The IV slides out of his forearm with a little tug. The nurse gives him a smile and bends his arm back. 

“Hold this cotton here, that’s a dear.” Combeferre had fast become the nurses’ favorite patient in the past two days, which was inevitable. He was young, rather handsome, and curious, always asking questions about what they were doing. “Now I’ll leave you to get dressed and bring back your discharge paperwork in a bit.” 

They’re strangely disappointed to see him go, but he supposes it makes sense, since they have to go back to patients that don’t respect them, with family members that don’t understand even the simplest explanations and yell when they don’t get what they want. (Enjolras may have yelled, but between all the Amis they had managed to keep him from terrorizing the staff too much.)

Combeferre dresses slowly, carefully, wincing a bit when the waistband of his sweatpants pulls a little on his stitches. It feels nice to wear real clothes again. He bends over to tie his shoelaces, gasping around the dull pain in his side. Enjolras knocks hesitantly on the door. 

“You almost ready?” Combeferre straightens, the blood rushing to his head, making his head spin and spots appear in his vision. The wound throbs. He has to close his eyes and take deep breaths until the dizziness passes. Enjolras puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“Just a head rush.”

“Maybe-”

“Enjolras,” He says with warning in his voice. 

“I’m just saying, I don’t want you to go home, if you’re not ready-”

“Enjolras, I am a medical student, who lives with another medical student, who happens to be the most paranoid medical student ever offered admission to a medical school, and they’re going to prescribe me oxycodon. I will be amazing once I’m in my own bed. Stop. Worrying.” Enjolras offers him a crooked smile at this. 

“Now you know how I feel all the damn time, with you fussing over me.”

“I don’t fuss. I merely point out when you’re going to kill yourself through neglect or carelessnes. And I thought you were going to continue being nice to me.”

“I am being nice to you.” Enjolras sits beside him. The mini-argument nicely distracted him from the throbbing pain long enough for it to fade. “We’re just waiting for the paperwork, right?” Combeferre nods. “And that prescription you’re so excited about.” Compulsively, he rests his head on Enjolras’ shoulder. He knows it’s not going to help his ‘not worrying’ case, but he can’t resist. Enjolras doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. “Tired?” He finally asks softly.

“I’ve been tired for the past day and a half. I just want to go home.” Combeferre sighs and they sit together, waiting to get out of there. After a while, Grantaire comes to the door, his brow furrowing.

“He okay?” He mouths to Enjolras, who nods. Grantaire and Combeferre haven’t exactly got along in the past, but they seem to have suspended hostilities for the present moment, something Enjolras is very glad of. He didn’t think he could face this alone, and Eponine was strangely enthusiastic about helping Joly tidy their apartment. 

The nurse comes by with paperwork to sign and discharge instructions and then they’re free to go. Grantaire takes the prescriptions to the pharmacy, leaving Enjolras to help Combeferre to a cab and home. 

Combeferre has to move slowly, with Enjolras’ arm around his waist and his arm draped over his shoulders. He sucks in air once they’re in the cab, resting his head wearily back on the seat behind him. They go over a bump that tugs on his stitches and he hisses in pain. Enjolras threads their fingers together and allows him to squeeze whenever the wrong movement sends shooting pains through his abdomen. 

The stairs are a complication he didn’t foresee. There is no elevator in their building, but Enjolras promises to help him. 

“It’ll be fine, even if I have to carry you, I will.”

“You can’t carry me,” Combeferre says with a wry smile, trying to cover the way his heart jumps with anxiety as his eyes alight on a reddish brown streak on the wall. His blood. 

“I can try.”

“We’d both end up right back in the hospital.”

“We could be roommates.” They keep up a light banter until Combeferre is too winded to continue and his hand fists in Enjolras’ sleeve. Then Enjolras switches his tone. “Come on, almost there, remember how much you wanted your own bed earlier? That’s it, just a few more steps,” He says in a low, coaxing voice. Then, seeing the sweat on Combeferre’s brow and the anxiety in his eyes, he presses his lips to his friend’s temple. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.” 

Joly meets them at the door, Eponine hovering behind him. They step carefully around the still present stain on the entryway floor. Enjolras’ stomach clenches unpleasantly and he pulls Combeferre along before he can dwell on it. 

“I really just want to sleep for a while,” He says as both Joly and Enjolras simultaneously ask him if he needs anything. Eponine kisses his cheek. 

“Welcome back,” She says but there’s sadness in her eyes. He wants to question her about it, but he’s so exhausted. Enjolras helps settle him in bed, with his head resting in Eponine’s lap. She strokes his hair. 

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Joly asks, wringing his hands nervously. Combeferre nods. 

“Just rest,” He insists. 

They turn out the light, and with Eponine beside him, he snuggles deep into his pillow and falls asleep. 

 

He wakes when it’s dark out. 

Something’s wrong, but he can’t quite tell what. He spends a minute in that halfway state between dreaming and awareness, where he forgets all that has happened in the past few days. Then the throbbing in his abdomen slowly makes itself known and he remembers, remembers Montparnasse in the alley, remembers the hospital. He gingerly sits up. 

“Grantaire dropped off your prescriptions. He and Enjolras went home a while ago.” Eponine’s sitting at his desk, one of his books dangling from her fingers. She had been watching him sleep. “I’m assuming by the look on your face you need some pain meds.” He nods. She fishes out a bottle. “Hm, oxycodon. Good stuff.”

“It takes the edge off,” He groans, attempting a macabre joke. She hands him a pill and a glass of water and sits on the edge of his bed, resting a hand on his knee.. Combeferre takes it gratefully. “What time is it?”

“Only about seven. Can I get you anything to eat?”

“Maybe in a bit, when this pill starts working.” Combeferre downs the glass, remembering his instructions. Eponine looks at her hands, an odd expression on his face. “What is it? Eponine-”

“We need to talk. Before the pill starts working, and I feel bad because you’re drugged and not able to really be here for this conversation.” Combeferre has a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that has nothing to do with the penetrating trauma he’s sustained. He sits up as best as he can and puts his glasses on. 

“What’s wrong? I hope you’re not feeling guilty again, because Ep, it really wasn’t your fault, you have nothing-”

“That’s just it, though,” Eponine whispers. “It is my fault. Montparnasse may have held the knife but you wouldn’t have even known Montparnasse without me.”

“Eponine...”

“I’m really not good for you, Combeferre. You should find yourself someone who is safe, whose exes won’t try to kill you, who don’t have eight year old brothers they have to take care of, and whose whore sisters who come around bringing drugs and violence. You need a nice girl, you deserve a nice girl, and I’m not a nice girl. I’ve done horrible things, Combeferre.”

“I don’t care about that, I don’t care about any of that,” Combeferre says quickly, trying to head of the situation before it spirals out of control. 

“I’m completely mad, Combeferre.”

“You’re not.”

“I can’t run from it.”

“It’s not about your past, it’s about the present-”

“I can’t escape it.”

“You _can_ , I can help you-”

“I’m sorry.” Eponine’s crying now, wiping at her face. “I have to go.”

“Okay, okay, just take tonight, we can talk later, just please, don’t do anything irrational, you’re upset, let’s just calm down and figure things out...”

“No, this is the most rational thing I’ve done in months. I don’t mean I have to leave your apartment. I have to leave the city.” 

“Leave New York? I don’t understand...”

“I have to get out of your life, Combeferre, I have to get out of everyone’s lives, so I can stop ruining them.” 

“ _Please_ , Eponine, please, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. But you’ll look back on this and know it was the right move for both of us.”

“No, it’s not, not for either of us. Please just stay, we can talk later.”

“I’ve made my decision. You can’t talk me out of it.”

“I _love_ you.” Eponine wavers for a second and hope blooms in Combeferre’s chest. 

“I can’t...I’m sorry. Don’t come after me, don’t try and look for me...just...let me go.” Hope crushed. Eponine gets up very fast then, turning her back and running, like she’s afraid of changing her own mind. 

“Eponine!” She ignores his call for her and he is left in the semi-darkness, alone, his heart breaking. 

It takes a second to sink it. Eponine just broke up with him. She broke up with him and now she’s going to disappear. There’s a tightness in his chest. He barely knows what he’s doing as he picks up his phone and texts Enjolras, since he doesn’t trust his voice. 

_Come over here. Now. Please._

He realizes after it’s sent that it sounds rather dire, and Enjolras is probably going to panic but there’s nothing to be done about that now. He sits and waits, the tightness in his chest growing and a lump forming in his throat. He dial’s Eponine’s number twice, but she doesn’t pick up. He doesn’t know what he would say if she did. The oxycodon goes to work, dulling the pain in his abdomen but making his thoughts fuzzy and confusing.

Enjolras arrives not ten minutes later, Grantaire on his heels. He uses his key to get in and bursts into the room, in a panic as Combeferre suspected. 

“What is it? Are you alright, do we need to go back to the hospital?” 

“No, I’m fine...I...” He can barely speak around the lump in his throat. “Eponine’s...she’s gone.” That’s when he starts to really sob, putting his face in his hands as he relays the entire conversation to Enjolras. Sometime during the tale Enjolras embraces him. He clutches at his friend, burying his face in his chest. 

“Shit.” Grantaire hisses. He can hear the door open. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to talk her out of this, stay here.” Enjolras squeezes Combeferre tighter. 

“I don’t understand why she’d leave. This wasn’t her fault...God, I’m in love with her, why can’t the rest of it not matter?” Enjolras shifts, kicking off his shoes. He pulls them down so they’re lying in each others arms. 

“I don’t know why she left,” Enjolras says softly, starting to stroke his hair. “I don’t know why she’d do this, but you’re not alone. It’s going to be okay.” 

He holds him until Combeferre cries himself to sleep, the drugs pulling him under, and even when Enjolras falls asleep himself, doesn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post an epilogue within a couple of days. Sorry to all the people who quite passionately wanted Eponine to stay. I do feel bad for breaking Combeferre's heart like this, after quite nearly killing him, but I promise the story is not over! There's much more to write in this modern A/U before it's over...
> 
> ...but it does get a bit darker before the dawn.


	9. Epilogue: How do we proceed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short epilogue, in which Combeferre is frustrated and we learn where Eponine ran off to.

Three days later, Combeferre wakes in pain. Again. 

It’s three in the morning and his medication has run its course. The pain has lessened in the past three days, but is still enough to wake him from a dead sleep. The wound is closing, but it’s the inside that gets him. It’s the kind of pain that’s hard to explain, because it’s _inside_ him, and terribly frustrating because it won’t go away. Combeferre knows he needs time, but he’s fed up with this this, being confined to bed and tired all the time and clouded with drugs. 

He gets out of bed carefully, so he won’t wake Enjolras. The blond has been sleeping with him every night since Eponine left and Grantaire returned from her apartment, bringing the news that it had been emptied and she had left no forwarding address. Her phone had been disconnected, Gavroche left in the care of Mr. Fauchelevent. She was gone. 

He was grateful for the company, for Enjolras’ warmth when he woke in the middle of the night in pain or from nightmares. 

(And Enjolras is not without his own night terrors. Sometimes Combeferre wakes as Enjolras presses his face to his shoulder, breathing raggedly and muffling cries against the soft cloth of Combeferre’s pajamas.) 

He shuts the door to the bathroom before turning on the light, so he won’t wake his sleeping friend, and leans on the sink. He stares at the orange pill bottle with the sudden desire to throw it on the floor so it would burst, scattering the pills on the tile floor. But that would be a tantrum, and Combeferre doesn’t _do_ tantrums. 

He’s just so _sick of it_. Sick of being sick. Sick of the pain and the weakness. Sick of not being able to go to school. Sick of the way every noise in the night makes his heart jump with anxiety, Sick of the worry for his friends when they’re not in his sight, because he’s terrified they’ll be hurt too and he wouldn’t wish this on anyone. 

He’s even sick of the way Enjolras and the others look at him, with concern and anguish. He’s sick of the way they treat him, like he’s fragile and going to break with the slightest touch. He wants to be better. He wants to go back to school. _What if he can’t ever go back? What if he can’t be normal again?_

Combeferre doesn’t notice that he’s crying, and not quietly, until hands close on his. 

“Shhh, it’s alright.”

“It’s not,” Combeferre gasps, through tears and a stuffy nose. “I don’t want to take these anymore, but it _hurts_.” Enjolras traces his thumbs in soothing circles over Combeferre’s hands. 

“Why don’t you want to take them anymore?” He asks softly, resting his chin on Combeferre’s shoulder. 

“Because they make me drowsy and cloud my thoughts.” He wavers on his feet and Enjolras guides him to sit on the closed toilet seat, taking the bottle from him. “People get _addicted_ to these things, Enjolras. And I’m scared that I’m going to, and then I won’t be able to go back to the hospital and then I have _nothing_.” 

Enjolras calmly sits on the edge of the bathtub. 

“You won’t have nothing,” He says. “And that won’t happen because you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known and you have more drive than to let something like that happen to you.” His even statements calm Combeferre. He takes a shaky breath. 

“It’s just really fucked up. All of it.” 

“I know.”

“This whole thing. There’s a fucking hole in me. And Eponine just disappearing like that. What if-” 

“It’s fucked up.” Enjolras takes his hands, stopping his words before he dwells too much on macabre ‘what ifs’. “But we’re going to make it through this. Because you’re not alone. You’ve got me, and a whole bunch of other people who love and care about you and aren’t going to let you fall.” 

They sit there for a long time, until Combeferre calms down enough to take the painkillers and crawl back into bed. 

He wakes up with the autumn sun streaming in the windows, his fingers entwined with Enjolras’, feeling truly hopeful for the first time in nearly a week. 

 

It’s hot in Louisiana.

Quite nearly unbearably hot, especially for a girl who’s lived her entire life in the Northeast, sometimes living on the street in the coldest months of winter. Eponine almost misses it, the cold. It’s autumn. In New York people will just be breaking out their sweaters and pea coats. In Louisiana Eponine feels hot in her light summer dress.

It’s almost time for Thanksgiving. Eponine had her first Thanksgiving the year before where she was actually _thankful_ for something. It had been at the Musain, like always. Everyone tried to cook, but no one really succeeded. But there was alcohol and grocery store pie and a warm fire. Eponine had still been obsessed with Marius and spent nearly the entire night pining for him, until Bahorel and Feuilly had pulled her into a drinking game involving how many times Courfeyrac could get Enjolras to blush with his racier innuendoes. It expanded into an epic game involving all of their crazy friends’ quirks and an excess of booze. 

Joly took her home that night and held her hair while she puked and Bossuet made them all pancakes in the morning and for the first time when they were eating breakfast, she thought that Combeferre had really kind eyes, and that his hair was cute when it was messy from sleep. 

But that was a year ago. A year and miles and miles away. 

Eponine can’t afford to dwell on the past, on her old happiness. She couldn’t keep ruining their lives with her insanity, with her darkness. Without her, their worlds could be happy and full of light and safe. It may break her heart, but it must be done. 

Eponine Thenardier is a new woman, in a new state, and there’s no going back.

 

She’s left alone in her thoughts, drinking iced coffee on the porch of the house she’s rented a room in, until the sun starts to set. As the shadows grow long across the bowed wood, the screen door creaks open, then slams shut again. Eponine looks up to see a girl about her age, holding a weather-beaten novel. 

“Mind if I join you?” There’s a bruise encircling her eye and a bandage wrapped around her left wrist. Eponine is polite and experienced enough not to ask questions. 

“Sure thing.” The girl sits on the lawn chair opposite the porch swing Eponine is reclining on, tucking her legs under her. She opens her book, but doesn’t start to read, instead thoughtfully staring out over the lawn. “My name’s Eponine Thenardier. Just moved here from New York. Temporarily. I think. You?”

“I’m from Philadelphia.” She says, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. She offers one to Eponine, extending an offer of friendship. Eponine accepts. As the flame from the lighter catches on the girl’s cigarette, she takes a long drag and looks at Eponine with conflicted, guarded eyes. “My name’s Nancy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this first part of my strange half AU/half reincarnation fic! (We'll get more into that later.) I hope you've all enjoyed reading and don't hate me too much for torturing our precious Guide. 
> 
> Coming up next, a series of shorts centered around the other Amis and how they're not quite holding it together. And then of course the crossover! Eponine's run off to the South and met up with Nancy from Oliver Twist. They will have adventures. (Problem is I've only just started reading Oliver Twist, so it may take a little while for me to actually think up their adventures. But then again, it's a comparatively short book, so maybe not that long. At least I didn't just start reading Les Miserables!) 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting. (I'm going to try and get better at actually responding to comments next time.) This was the first piece I published online since my unfortunate high school anime obsession phase, and I think it went well. (Certainly better than the aforementioned phase...) Thanks again for reading!


End file.
